


Panem et circenses

by nerddowell



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Come Shot, Dom/sub Undertones, Gladiator AU, I'm Going to Hell, I'm So Sorry Grandma, I'm serious this is filthy, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, colosseum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: This is what happens when a classics student starts watching porn and gets inspired.





	Panem et circenses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faekieren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faekieren/gifts).



> For [faedennis](http://faedennis.tumblr.com) on tumblr, for being an enabler.

He is laid in one of the many rooms below the thundering amphitheatre, Claudia bent over his leg with her needle and her knife, stitching his wounds. He is covered in blood, most not his own, and he can hear the screaming of the crowd and the roaring of frightened beasts as more meet their bloody deaths above his head. _Panem et circenses_ , he thinks numbly, and does not consider the blood of his countrymen he himself has spilled over the two years of fighting in the arena. As such, he is incredibly popular, always a huge draw to fights, and the _amicus_ himself has asked many times for the pleasure of his company, though he has never yet acquiesced.

It's strange, he thinks, how one can be a filthy Gaul, a slave, a lesser being in Rome, and one of the most desired, praised men in the city. Neither and both, all at once. Claudia digs her needle into his leg again and he flinches. She tells him to relax, their native rough Gallic stuttering off her tongue, and he reminds her to speak in Latin now unless she wants trouble. She rolls her eyes, blue as the sea, and cuts away the extra thread, pronouncing him finished.

He has three new stitched wounds, which will end up in three new scars, if he’s not killed before they have chance to heal fully. It’s an outcome he’s always prepared for, whenever he sets sandal on the ground of the arena, sand eagerly drinking up the blood of those fallen before him. He’s faced animals before, strange striped creatures from territories across the sea, or great maned things that roar and rake at the ground with claws like butchers’ knives. The animals rarely attack first. They are too frightened by the amplified thunder of the crowds around them, wanting to see man or beast die, and the guards have to goad them with pricks of their swords before they’ll charge. He slew one like Hercules, with his bare hands, and even the emperor smiled, though the _amicus_ beside him – his blue eyes, so rare for a Roman – cool and curious on his bare skin, frightened him more.

He offers prayers of thanks to his small statue of Fortuna, first in Gallic and then in his somewhat stilted Latin, and burns a candle. The stitches pull at his skin as he moves, but he ignores the pain as he stumbles towards the baths. He is bone-tired, wanting nothing more than his bed, but he had caught the _amicus_ ’ eyes shining in his direction, the cool, disinterested expression that belied another night of his unusual form of slavery, and the _amicus_ likes his men clean.

A slave wielding a _strigil_ strips him clean of the blood, sand and grime coating his skin before leading him to the water. The _frigidarium_ is all that he needs in one package; soothingly cold water over his burning skin, lashed by the heat of the Roman sun and the sting of the salt from his sweat in new wounds. He sinks into the bath and sighs with pleasure. Another man, a Thracian he recognises as famed for his skill with the curved sword, joins him wordlessly a moment later.

They bathe in comparative peace, following one another from bath to bath until they reach the massage chamber. A slave waits by one of the tables, oils ready on a shelf beside him, and Secundus lies down to be oiled and cleaned as the _amicus_ will expect. The slave’s hands are gentle, if coarse from labour, over his skin, snagging the new stitches once and making him growl in pain. The slave apologises before continuing, kneading olive oil into his skin until he gleams.

He is handed a fresh tunic, which he shrugs on, rolling his shoulders and glorying in the feeling of smooth, clean skin. The messenger is waiting, as expected, outside the school as he steps into the sunlight, and the palace, the Palatine Hill, calls.  


* * *

  
The _amicus_ is reclined on one of his many couches, picking at a plate of grapes, when he is shown in. He keeps his eyes on the floor, well-trained; it was beaten into him within moments of being taken from his tribesmen that in Rome, he will treat citizens – those who are not like him – with respect. He is a slave after all.

The _amicus_ is staring at him, his eyes hooded, and he gestures with a sweeping, bejewelled hand for Secundus to sit at his feet. Secundus does as he is told, his pulse thudding. Affection is so freely given behind this door, as though it does not shame the man who could stand to lose everything if the people knew what Secundus knows, or if they heard the _infames_ talk. Perhaps they do not listen to the gladiators beneath the amphitheatre he so loves to attend, who love to whisper behind his pale back that the _amicus_ himself kneels, and paints his face like a woman. Secundus has beaten many a man into the sand of the trial grounds for less, and he brandishes his fists like he brandishes his sword in the arena.

‘My _eques_ ,’ he says in his silky voice, and Secundus does not answer. It’s a taunt, he knows; an _eques_ he might have been a long time ago, amongst his countrymen when he was a prince in his own right, but he will never be that again now. He wonders if the _amicus_ knows he was once an equal to him. He says nothing, but accepts a grape, fed to him by elegant, feminine fingers, smiling as the _amicus_ traces a thumb over the curve of his bottom lip.

‘Speak to me,’ he says, his hand gripping Secundus’ chin and forcing him to look up at him. His eyes are intense, blue and dark, lined in black, and Secundus smiles.

‘ _Delicium_ ,’ he murmurs, nuzzling against the hand now caressing his hair – long enough to allow the sensuous stroking of a hand through his golden curls, but short enough to prevent being grabbed in a fight – and is rewarded with a slow smile. The _amicus_ is a beautiful man.

He brings Secundus up to sit on the couch beside his, inviting him to recline, and holds up a bunch of grapes by the stem, his eyes sparkling. Secundus takes the lowermost one between his lips, pulling gently to separate it from the stem, and the _amicus_ ’ eyes widen, his lips parting on a sigh. Secundus swallows the grape whole, casting his eyelashes down demurely, and the _amicus_ moves like lightning to pin him where he reclines on the couch, crushing their lips together and winding his hands in Secundus’ short hair.

‘Tell me your name,’ he sighs into Secundus’ mouth, his hands with their many rings tangled in gold curls.

‘Which one?’

The amicus pulls back, frowning. ‘Your real name.’

‘Philippus.’

‘Indeed? Then you are a brother to me,’ the _amicus_ tells him with a small smile, ‘I am also a Philippus.’

‘In that case, I shall be Secundus to you as to everyone else. Or perhaps Eques as you seem to love calling me. I shall not be ashamed to have a nickname given by the brother of the _imperator_.’

‘Eques you are,’ Philippus sighs, and leans down to kiss him again, tasting of wine and honey, his hand wandering beneath his Eques’ tunic to wrap around his cock, half-hard and growing harder by the moment. Philippus groans with delight, coaxing him to full hardness with quick, teasing pulls of his hand, and the Eques moans into his kisses, panting as his breath comes shorter and harder as pleasure floods his body.

It strikes him for a moment as wrong, that Philippus is taking the role he should as a slave and an inferior, but far be it from his role to tell his betters how they should amuse themselves. So he lies back and allows Philippus to do as he wishes until the _amicus_ pulls away again, kneeling between the Eques’ thighs on the floor. He pushes the Eques’ tunic up, exposing his cock fully, and flicks his gaze up to Secundus’ face, his eyes black, pupils blown, and mouth hanging slightly open with desire. The Eques knows that that expression means.

‘Please,’ he murmurs.

The Eques slowly takes his cock in hand, stroking slowly, playing with the tip and biting his lip as his thumb skates over the slit, smearing precome over the tip.

‘Please,’ Philippus moans softly, his eyes pleading, ‘don’t tease.’

The Eques offers it to him, palm open, and he dives forward, hands on Secundus’ hips, worshipping him like some kind of heathen god with a hot, wet mouth. His head bobs furiously between Secundus’ thighs, which tremble either side of his dark, curly head, the _amicus_ ’ hands keeping them well-spread and kneading feverishly. He pulls to lift them, to push Secundus’ cock further into his mouth, and the Eques gets the idea. He cups the back of Philippus’ head with one hand and starts thrusting his hips, ignoring the choking noises as he pushes too deep; Philippus’ fingernails dig into his thighs and he gazes up at Secundus with damp eyes, his lips stretched so perfectly around his cock and tongue teasing wickedly at the knot beneath the tip. Secundus can’t take his eyes off him.

He keeps moving his hips, staring down at Philippus until he’s so overcome he has no choice but to drop his head back, legs trembling violently either side of the _amicus_ ’ head, orgasm so close he can’t think, can’t do anything but mindlessly rut into the warm wet heat of Philippus’ mouth, panting and flexing his hands against the material of the couch. His balls draw up against his body and he gasps, shudders – it licks at his balls and he cries out –

And Philippus draws away again, spit-slicked mouth glistening with saliva and pre-come, his face desperate.

‘W-why?’

‘Please,’ he whispers, opening his mouth, and the Eques tries to feed his cock to him again, balls aching with the need to come, but Philippus closes his mouth, shaking his head.

‘ _Please_. Don’t make me say it.’ The penny drops.

‘An offering then,’ the Eques pants softly, ‘to your favourite gladiator.’ He dips his hand between his legs, grasps his cock and strokes once, twice, before Philippus closes his eyes and Secundus comes with a soft grunt, covering the _amicus_ ’ face in dripping streaks of come. Philippus _sighs_ as though it’s the first time he’s ever breathed, and Secundus feels him come in a pulse of wet warmth over his calf and ankle.

‘Beautiful.’ He cups Philippus’ chin with one hand, drawing him up to sit in his lap, and wipes his face clean with one palm, moaning softly as Philippus licks his hand clean with small laps of his tongue.

‘Filthy,’ Philippus corrects him with a grin, and the Eques smiles.

‘Anything to oblige.’ He shifts, intending to get up and leave, but Philippus quells his movements with a look, raising one perfect eyebrow.

‘Who said I was finished with you?’

‘Have I not sated you, darling?’

‘Never,’ Philippus smirks, kissing the droplets of sweat off of Secundus’ chest, mouthing lightly at his nipples and laving the silvery scars with the flat of his tongue. ‘You’ve had a bath.’

‘You thought I would come to see you stinking of blood and sweat like an animal? Of course I bathed.’

‘I thought you Gauls might do things differently.’

‘Well, they do say ‘When in Rome…’’

‘I don’t believe that idiom usually ends with ‘fuck the emperor’s brother’, but I understand your point.’ Philippus grins. ‘And speaking of fucking the emperor’s brother, have some wine and grapes to get your strength back and then I fully expect to be fucked until I can’t walk before I can allow you to leave.’

Secundus laughs, pouring himself a glass of wine. He drinks it slowly as Philippus reclines against his chest, feeding the _amicus_ grapes with his other hand and smiling as Philippus licks the juice from his fingers, eyes heavy-lidded and impatient for more. Eventually, when he decides he’s done teasing, he helps Philippus up to sit and takes the saucer of olive oil from the table, smearing it over his fingers before reaching down between the _amicus_ ’ thighs to press against his hole.

Philippus responds with a low, aroused noise and presses back against his fingers eagerly, as keen for it as a boy-whore in a brothel. Secundus teases for a moment, stroking over and around the puckered entrance before easing his way in with one finger, and Philippus’ body immediately melts against his, the _amicus_ ’ hand reaching up to cup the back of his neck and pressing their foreheads together, breathing heavier against Secundus’ lips.

Secundus presses deeper, gently stroking and coaxing Philippus open until he can ease another finger in alongside. The _amicus_ groans and rocks back against his fingers, breathing soft and ragged, and his hips roll into Secundus’ hand, cock twitching against his stomach.

‘More,’ he breathes, and Secundus withdraws his hand slowly to press the tip of his cock against Philippus’ entrance, gazing into the other man’s eyes. Philippus bites his lip and makes an almost pained expression as he pushes down slowly, taking Secundus in to the root, and lets out a shaky breath when he is fully seated; Secundus smooths a hand over his short hair, running down the back of his neck to his shoulder, and Philippus rolls his hips slowly, throwing his head back with a moan.

From that moment on, it’s fast and sloppy, Philippus clutching at Secundus and bouncing in his lap, gasping profanities and pleas into the charged air between them, and Secundus drives his hips up hard, fucking into him with all he has. Philippus writhes, moans and sighs, makeup smudged on his cheeks and mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut, as he whimpers his pleasure, breathless with it, desperate. Secundus grasps him by the back of the neck and holds his hips steady as he fucks into him and the _amicus_ screams hoarsely, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Secundus knows as if by instinct that he’s not hurting him; not any more than the _amicus_ wants. He lands a firm slap on Philippus’ thigh and he wails, body tightening around Secundus’ cock, and he pulls him down harder, grinding against his arse, pushing deeper with every thrust as Philippus flails for purchase on the table behind him, arching his back, cock slapping against his stomach with every thrust. He’s so loud the whole of Rome can probably hear him taking a cock, screaming for more, uninhibited and wild, and Secundus being dragged along for the ride.

He grasps helplessly at Secundus’ hand, placing it on his cock, begging tearfully ‘Please, please…’

The Eques is beginning to think that ‘please’ is the only word Philippus knows.

He strokes him with quick, rough movements of his hand, Philippus’ voice hoarse and high-pitched in his ears as he shudders and comes for the second time, spurting over Secundus’ hand and chest as he grinds back against the cock buried inside him. He keeps moving as Secundus takes over, holding him down as he chases his own orgasm, thrusts sharp and short and making Philippus squirm as Secundus pounds against his prostate, burying his face in Philippus’ shoulder and biting down to muffle a yell as he comes so hard he can see stars.

Both of them lie, sweaty and sated, on the couch for a long time, hands entwined, Philippus tracing the many scars on Secundus’ naked body with one fingertip. Secundus places a soft kiss on the crown of the _amicus_ ’ head and imagines his dark hair wreathed in laurels, the emperor of the night, as the moon shines through the window and the stars blink in their multitudes around her.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Glossary:**  
>  _Panem et circenses_ : literally, 'bread and circuses'. The Roman formula for keeping the people happy: feed them and give them some entertainment. Fun fact: this Latin phrase is where Suzanne Collins got the name for _The Hunger Games_ ' Panem from.  
>  _amicus_ : counselor/courtier (to a royal) / friend, ally, disciple / patron (basically the best i could come up with, in classical Latin, for 'prince' or equivalent.  
>  _strigil_ : the scraping instrument Romans and Greeks used to scrape dirt and sweat and all that stuff off of themselves. Rich people had slaves to do it for them, the rest of them did it themselves.  
>  _frigidarium_ : Roman baths had three rooms, designed to cleanse the body by sweating by gradually increasing the temperature. The first room was the frigidarium or 'cold room'; the next the 'tepidarium' or warm room; and the last bath was the caldarium or 'hot room'. After that was a sort of dry room/sauna where they could sit and sweat it out before getting massages from slaves and bath attendants.  
>  _infames_ : literally, 'infamous'. The undesirables of Roman society.  
>  _eques_ : someone of equestrian class/equestrian order / horseman/cavalryman/rider. Basically I'm giving Chev the equivalent Roman nickname ( _Chevalier_ translates to Knight, which is roughly what _eques_ means). Also, a pun on being a 'rider', heh.  
>  _delicium_ : darling (neuter gender, because everything else seemed to be feminine and I didn't think Philippe, as a Roman man, with their obsession with virility would appreciate being addressed with a feminine epithet, even by a lover).  
>  _imperator_ : emperor. plain and simple.
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  _on names_ : Philippus is, as I would assume is fairly obvious, the Latinised version of the Greek Philippos from which we get Philip, Philippe, etc. Secundus is a name given to a second son, which I used because having two characters called Philippus would be confusing. I do realise that they are both second sons, but it made the most sense to me to do things this way. Claudia is Claudine (yay for names very close to the Latin equivalent!)  
>  _cool facts:_ 1\. Gladiators got some of the best healthcare in Rome. Because they were so valuable, they were treated well and all of their injuries carefully looked after to the best ability of the doctors of the time. Obviously, this was limited, but Roman doctors pioneered the treatment of fractures (an injury frequently incurred during gladiator fights) and even used an opium-based anaesthetic for surgical procedures.  
>  2\. Chev would be a member of the Belgae, but specifically most likely either a tribesman of the Mediomatrici themselves who were the Gaulish peoples inhabiting the area of Lorraine and the Rhine originally, or a descendant of them through the other Gaulish peoples who invaded from Caesar's time onwards.  
> 3\. Gladiators were pretty much the rock stars of Roman society. They had thousands of adoring fans yelling for them to win from the stands, were showered with gifts and money when they won, mourned when they lost, and even had groupies. Roman women who were allowed relative sexual liberty - widows and the like - would pay to spend time with gladiators. And sue me, I liked the idea of the emperor's brother getting it on with his favourite pretty jock.  
> 4\. You wouldn't believe how many words and different roles there were in Ancient Rome for men engaging in homosexual sex. I'm serious. Look it up sometime.


End file.
